


Call Number

by musegnome



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Library, Books, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Good AUmens AU Festival, Libraries, Library Sex, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musegnome/pseuds/musegnome
Summary: The Applegate Branch Library is a second home for librarian Aziraphale Aden. He can greet almost every patron by name, and knows exactly where each book belongs on its shelf. He’s a bit disappointed when his new librarian starts breaking the Applegate computers; he’s never gotten along overly well with the Tadfield Library System’s IT department. And when he meets Anthony Crowley, the newest member of the IT staff, he’s not certain things are going to be any different.Written for the Good AUmens AU Fest.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 81
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	Call Number

**Author's Note:**

> The libraries and library characters depicted in this work are a loving amalgamation of many real-life (U.S.) libraries of my experience. 
> 
> Chapter titles are (loosely) taken from Dewey Decimal classification numbers.
> 
> I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my marvelous beta Anti_kate for helping me strengthen this story. And to the Good Omens Events Discord for being wonderful. (Cheers especially to our fearless leader bisasterdi!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Aziraphale was late, as usual. The library had already been open for fifteen minutes, but luckily there were only a few cars in the lot. He recognised Anathema’s hatchback and Tracy’s sedan; the only other vehicle was a strange little blue car with three wheels.

The sturdy brown brick building awaited him, the Applegate Branch Library, welcoming as always. The automatic doors slid apart at his step. It was home, his little library – at least as much home as his actual flat – and he was cheered by the familiar rows of bookshelves stretching out before him in the early morning quiet. 

Anathema typed away intently at the front desk computer. He saw no need to disturb her as he slipped past. Families would start coming in soon enough for the children’s programmes, and he would let her be productive while she could.

As Aziraphale headed toward the back of the library, he glimpsed a book lying flat on one of the higher shelves, clearly out of place. A hardcover novel. Octavia Butler. A favourite, but she certainly didn’t belong in the cooking section. He retrieved the stray novel and detoured to fiction, immediately finding the empty spot in the proper row of books.

He hated it when his books were out of place. Hated when someone came to him with a parched soul he could saturate with just the right story, with a question for which he knew just the right volume to start them on their journey toward an answer – only to find an empty gap where the book should be when he led them proudly to the shelf. The well unexpectedly run dry, the path’s beginning obscured. He could usually find _something_ to give them that would adequately meet their need, but it always felt flat somehow, tossing bare bones with no flesh, and he took little joy from it.

That was an advantage to digital books for those who preferred them: they were rarely missing from their appointed places. He’d learned to use an e-reader so he could teach the ways of the thing to his patrons, and he couldn’t deny it was terribly convenient in many respects, such as the transportation of large numbers of novels – one might always be in the mood to read something different, after all. But for him there would never quite be a substitute for the smell of pages in his nose, the feel of smooth covers beneath his fingertips.

He slotted the book back into place with a deep sense of satisfaction.

He emerged from the stacks to find Tracy standing outside his office, talking to a tall, gangly young man. Aziraphale inhaled sharply. He’d completely forgotten his new librarian was starting today. 

Tracy spotted him before he could say anything and waved him over with a smile. “And here’s Aziraphale now. He’s always at least ten minutes late, so you’d better get used to it right off the bat.” 

Aziraphale shook his head ruefully. “Now, Tracy, is that really necessary? No need to go exposing my bad habits on our colleague’s first day here. Let him find them out on his own. Leave me a little mystery.”

The young man eagerly stepped forward. “Mr. Aden? A pleasure to see you again.” His brand-new badge hung around his neck on a pristine Tadfield Libraries lanyard, the photo crisp and clear. Aziraphale rummaged for his own faded badge, feeling rather unprofessional. 

“Please, call me Aziraphale.”

Tracy snorted. “As if that’s a shorter name.” 

“As you can tell, we’re fairly informal here,” Aziraphale said wryly. “But we’d like to call you by whatever name you prefer.”

“Mr. Pulsifer is fine. But I usually go by Newt. Newton, if I’m in trouble.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to use the long form too often.” Aziraphale shifted his messenger and lunch bags awkwardly on his shoulder. “Has anyone given him the tour?”

“Not anywhere but the front desk. And the book drop. Someone stuffed a bunch of hellfire-and-brimstone flyers in again.” Tracy wrinkled her nose.

“It’s far from the worst thing we’ve had come through.” Aziraphale grimaced as he swiped his badge to open the office door. “Thank you, Tracy. I can take things from here.”

Newt trailed after him as he dumped his bags on his desk. “So what's the worst thing you’ve had put through the book drop?”

“We’ll just call it gross matter and leave it at that.” Aziraphale picked up his lunch. “Food and drinks in the break room only, please. Let’s see if your badge will let us in.”

Newt’s badge did work on the break room, and on the supply closet and the staff work area as well. “You’ll have to share the space with Anathema and Tracy, but at least you have your own desk,” said Aziraphale, watching Newt settle in. 

The young man pulled a surprising number of things out of his bag: a leafy fake plant, a colourful glass paperweight, a chipped coffee mug for pencils. He looked up at Aziraphale shyly. “Central’s so big, and we didn’t even see all of it during orientation. So I didn’t know what to expect here. I thought I’d be optimistic about having a place to put everything.”

“I’m glad we’re able to accommodate you.” Aziraphale kept his face neutral, but he felt a pang of insecurity. The Central branch was big. Huge, in fact: four gleaming stories. A state-of-the-art computer lab complete with 3D printers. Sleek conference rooms and an imposing lobby. And rows upon rows of brand-new, immaculate books. Though he hadn’t seen the staff areas – other than the administrative spaces, of course – he wouldn’t be surprised at all if everyone there had an office to themselves. He was sure it was a lovely place to work, but every time he visited he found it a relief to return to Applegate’s modest cosiness.

Applegate was a far humbler facility than Central, but Aziraphale was happy to see that Newt seemed nothing but appreciative as he showed him through the building. He loved his little library, with its painted brick walls, its carpet worn and scuffed by thousands of feet. The books might not all be in mint condition, but they were well-read and well-loved. And the computers were perhaps a bit outdated, but they ran and they connected to the internet, and by and large they did what his patrons needed them to do. 

They made their way up to the front desk, where Tracy watched people trickle in through the library doors. Aziraphale set Newt to checking in the books and DVDs that had been turned in the night before. 

“What do you think so far?” Tracy asked brightly as the barcode scanner chirped.

The young man broke into a sincere, sunny grin. “For the whole hour I’ve been here, it’s been lovely.” The remnants of tension in Aziraphale’s chest loosened, and he beamed in return.

He started imagining how Newt would fit into their little cast of characters. Tracy, with her thirty-year certificate of appreciation from the system, was his seasoned veteran; Anathema his second-in-command, a general now rounding up a squadron of parents and toddlers for morning storytime. Newt could be their earnest private, supporting them until he learned enough to define his own role.

And where did that leave him? Guardian of the books? Stalwart defender of the printed page? It wasn’t quite true – he did respect digital books, anything to get people reading, but they weren’t the preferred weapons in his arsenal.

Aziraphale sighed.

At the moment, he was a branch manager who should probably get around to checking his email.

“What’s the plan for the rest of his first day?” Tracy broke into his reverie.

Aziraphale hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. “Hmm. Well. I thought he could shadow you for the rest of the morning,” he improvised. 

Tracy shook her head in fond exasperation, seeing right through him. “Off with you, then.” She flapped her hands, shooing him away.

Back in his office, he turned on his computer and logged in to find a slew of new messages in his inbox. Patron questions, updates from professional mailing lists, a reminder for the quarterly all-staff meeting. _Lord, the all-staff meeting._ Aziraphale bit back a surge of dread.

An email to the entire library system from Bee in IT with a virtual introduction of their new employee. Ten years in the private sector with extensive desktop support experience, likes vintage cars and houseplants… He realised he should probably compose something of the sort for Newt.

He sat back in his chair, trying to remember whether or not Newt had mentioned anything about hobbies or family, when there was a tapping on the door. “Come in,” he called.

The badge swipe beeped and Tracy poked her head inside. “We’ve got a bit of a computer situation. Could you come take a look?”

He could certainly take a look, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he could do about it. Technology was not his strong suit. 

Mr. Tyler sat at one of the public computers, rambling gruffly to Newt about his genealogical research. “The Tylers in Suffolk are an entirely different family from the Tylers in Brunswick, you know, but they’re both connected to the Barnetts through marriage.” 

Newt nodded with a fixed grin.

“I see you’re giving our new librarian quite the genealogy lesson, Mr. Tyler,” said Aziraphale as he approached. 

“I am. He’s got a bit to learn about computers as well.” 

Newt’s hunched shoulders twitched into a cringe, and Aziraphale felt a swell of protectiveness. “We’ve all had to learn new things at one time or another,” he said crisply. “Now, what we can do for you?”

With a hint of chagrin, Tyler pointed to the webpage on his screen. “I’m trying to print this marriage record, but I couldn’t get it to work.”

Aziraphale’s undercurrent of computer-related anxiety eased. He knew how to handle this one. “If you could log in with your library card, please – you need to connect so we can bill it to your account.”

Tyler frowned. “I _am_ logged in. Mr. Pulsifer helped me change the text size and now it won’t print.”

“He wanted it larger so it would be easier to see,” Newt elaborated. He was still drawn in on himself, and Aziraphale smiled at him, trying to project an aura of non-judgmental kindliness. He glanced around hopefully for Anathema, who was better at both projecting auras and dealing with technology, but she was still seated on the floor of the children’s area in a puddle of skirts, holding up a picture book to a horde of rowdy tots.

His anxiety was back in full force. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “If I could look at things a bit more closely?” Mr. Tyler obligingly pushed his old rolling chair backward, and Aziraphale bent to peer at the monitor. As far as he could tell everything seemed to be in order, but the print button was grey instead of its usual bright blue, and refused to respond to clicks. 

Aziraphale ran through everything he knew to do, from checking the cables to turning everything off and then on again. He had Tyler switch machines. He even tried logging in with his own account, but somehow on every public computer the button remained grey and the printer remained silent. He groaned inwardly. “Was that the only thing you wanted, Mr. Tyler?” The man nodded. “If you’ve got ten pee, I’ll go to a staff computer and get this taken care of for you.” He hoped Tyler was carrying change.

Mr. Tyler irritably dug in his pockets and handed him the coin, and Aziraphale whisked Newt off to the front desk. He handed Tracy the money to put in the cash box and pulled up Tyler’s document in the genealogical database, relieved to see the print button blue and responsive on the page. 

As the printer whirred, Newt bit his lip. “I should probably warn you. I’m not good with computers. I know my way around them, I mean, but… they’ve never worked for me very well.”

Tracy made a sympathetic face. “You’re not the only one, love.”

Aziraphale tried not to be disappointed. He’d hoped Newt would be able to navigate the ins and outs of library technology, so there would be more than one computer-savvy librarian in the branch; the worst computer problems invariably popped up on Anathema’s days off. 

But Newt seemed earnest enough, and willing to learn, which was more than could be said for others he’d worked with. “I’d best show you how to put in a ticket for tech support, then.” That particular skill was one Aziraphale could definitely teach.

Over the course of the day, Aziraphale learned Newt enjoyed roleplaying games, had a cat named Unix, and drove the odd little three-wheeled car Aziraphale had seen on the way in. He and Aziraphale shared a fondness for sushi, and he seemed genuinely curious when Anathema began going on about her crystals and tarot decks. He cheerfully introduced a patron to a new mystery author and subsequently bonded with Tracy over enjoyment of the genre. All in all, in spite of Newt’s alleged technological impediments, Aziraphale was deeply pleased.

Late in the afternoon the two of them were covering the front desk for Anathema’s break when the automatic doors opened to admit the tiny, surly head of Tadfield Libraries’ IT department, followed closely by a tall man in head-to-toe black.

“Bee!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I didn’t think we’d get such a quick response to our ticket.” They’d been with Tadfield Libraries a long time, he and Bee. They weren’t quite old enemies, but weren’t quite old friends either.

“Yeah, well. Got a new tech. Thought I’d bring him over to learn his way around the place,” said Bee, slouching towards the desk. 

Newt gave a little wave of recognition. “It’s Anthony Crowley, isn’t it?”

“Just Crowley.” 

“We had new employee orientation together last week,” Newt explained.

Aziraphale had seen any number of IT staff who bore an outward resemblance to the new employee: black clothing, artfully messy hair, a nimbus of cynicism that bordered on sullenness. This one seemed older than most of Bee’s novices. Probably close to Aziraphale’s own age, if he had to guess. Even once he was inside the library he hadn’t removed his sunglasses, and he had a small but dramatic snake tattoo on his jaw. 

When he met Aziraphale’s eyes – or at least Aziraphale thought he did; it was hard to tell behind the sunglasses – he switched on an artificially charming grin and stepped forward with an extended hand. 

“Like I said, it’s just Crowley.”

Aziraphale put on his own polite smile and shook the cool, dry hand that was pressed into his. “Aziraphale Aden. I’m the manager here.”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley raised a brow.

“It’s an angel name, yeah? Something to do with your family?” Bee impatiently drummed their fingers on the desk. They’d heard this story before.

Aziraphale tugged self-consciously at his worn waistcoat. “Er, yes. One of the more obscure angels. An old family name, indeed.”

“Right.” Bee stalked to the bank of public computers. “Let’s get to it. Show me what you can do with the old fossils here, Crowley.” Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain they were talking about the machines.

Crowley’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he followed Bee over and took a seat. His fingers began to dance across the keys.

“He’s quick,” said Anathema, who was back from her break and had slipped behind the desk without attracting Aziraphale’s attention.

And Crowley was. After a moment of staccato keystrokes and a series of swift clicks of the mouse, the printer began obediently churning out pages. 

Aziraphale abruptly remembered all of Mr. Tyler’s attempts to print. “If you could stop the printouts, please,” he called. “Unless you’re particularly interested in twenty copies of a marriage certificate from 1915.”

Another few clicks, and the printer ceased its operations. 

“Well done,” drawled Bee. “You might turn out to be useful.” 

Crowley shrugged. “Was just a weird setting. I’m impressed anyone was even able to get to it.”

“I guess I have a gift,” Newt said, shifting uncomfortably, and Aziraphale frowned.

“Don’t fret over it, please. It could have been any of us. And at any rate, it gave our colleagues a chance for a change of scenery.”

Crowley inspected the printer. “Does this have a lot of problems?”

“It does,” Aziraphale confirmed suspiciously.

“If you had a newer one, you likely wouldn’t have as many. A printer this old has a hard time interacting with updated software.”

“Aziraphale, going for a new piece of equipment?” Bee guffawed. “It would take an act of God.”

Aziraphale scowled, trying not to show his embarrassment. “I refuse to feel badly about not wanting to waste library resources disposing of something before it’s broken. We’ve gotten good use out of this printer, and just because it’s – it’s struggling a bit doesn’t mean it’s ready for the rubbish bin.” 

“I think we can afford to buy something new once every decade or two. Besides, who wants anything on paper anymore?” Bee chuckled.

“A good many of our patrons, actually,” said Aziraphale tartly. “Which I should think you’d know by now, given how much you deal with our printers.”

Bee shook their head in disdain.

“Give us the time,” they demanded. Aziraphale pulled out his pocket-watch as Crowley simultaneously checked an enormous, elaborate timepiece around his wrist. 

“Quarter to five,” he said. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and snapped his watch closed.

“Too late to make it back to Central.” Bee took their car keys out of their pocket and jingled them thoughtfully. “Stay and have a look around if you want, Crowley. You’ll likely be the one we’ll send out here. Or – just leave early. Happy Day One.” 

With a perfunctory wave, Bee was out the door, leaving Crowley standing as if cut adrift. Which, Aziraphale supposed, he had been. 

“Did you want a quick look at the rest of the computers? Of course, I understand if you’d like to get going as Bee suggested—” 

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley cut him off. 

Surprised, Aziraphale abandoned Newt to Anathema’s tender mercies and led Crowley to the staff offices and children’s computers. “Aside from printers not working, our most common problem is when the wi-fi goes down,” he laughingly informed Crowley, who only nodded.

“Anything I need to know about in here?” Crowley tapped on the break room door.

“Not unless your technological expertise extends to coffeepots.” Aziraphale was trying for levity, but only received another of those artificial smiles in return. He gave up and retreated back to politeness. “We do keep the kitchen stocked with coffee and tea, so bring your own mug if you like.” 

They returned to the front desk just in time for Aziraphale to bid Tracy goodbye on her way out the door. Newt was in the process of checking out a stack of aromatherapy books to Anathema. “I’m working on an oil blend for better sleep,” she announced. She squinted at Aziraphale. “You look like you could use some.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Aziraphale dryly as she departed. He turned to Crowley. “Do you have a library card yet?” 

“Not much of a book person.”

“Oh, but we don’t have just print books!” Newt said enthusiastically. Aziraphale stood back and let him work on his spiel. “Audio books, e-books, research databases. News and magazine subscriptions. Movies!”

“That’s what Netflix is for,” said Crowley, but Newt was already pulling a new plastic card out of the drawer, hopefully.

“Come on,” Aziraphale coaxed. “It would be good for Newt to get practise setting a card up. And besides – you never know if something might catch your eye.” 

He was fairly sure Crowley was rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses, but the man fumbled for his wallet and pulled out his driving licence. 

Newt only required a little coaching and a few gentle corrections through the process. Aziraphale expected Crowley to be annoyed, but he was, instead, astonishingly patient with Newt’s series of hesitant questions. 

Finally, Newt beamed at Crowley as he handed over the new card. They were both startled when Aziraphale burst into applause. He had a suspicion Newt was the sort who appreciated being fussed over.

“A fine ending to your first day, Mr. Pulsifer!” he said, and Newt grinned happily. “I’ve quite enjoyed getting to know you today. I hope Applegate meets with your approval.” 

“Oh, yes!” 

“Lovely! I think you’ll fit in well here.” Aziraphale took out his pocket-watch again. “Except that Tracy and Anathema have a much better sense of when it’s time to head home. I’ve kept you an extra twenty minutes over, so please feel free to come in a few minutes late in the morning.”

“I daresay I’ll still be here before you will,” Newt joked reflexively.

He paled when he recognised his own cheek to his new supervisor, but Aziraphale threw back his head and laughed in delight. “You’re an excellent fit indeed. Now, get along with you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Newt had left, Aziraphale turned back to the desk and was surprised to find Crowley still there, watching. Perhaps even looking a little wistful? He’d certainly had a different experience with Bee. 

“Bee’s much more no-nonsense than we are here at Applegate. But they’re a good enough sort,” he said. He thought back to the email this morning. “I’d imagine work with the libraries won’t be like your previous experience, though. What was it Bee said – nine years at a private company of some sort?”

“Ten, actually. Private equity firm.” Crowley rubbed at the back of his neck. “It is different so far. S’good though. Needed a change of pace.” 

“Well, welcome on board. I’m sorry you’re stuck coming out all the way out here. Our technology issues aren’t terribly exciting.”

“Don’t think it’ll be too bad at all. You lot seem like you’ll be decent to work with.” Crowley offered him an uncertain smile; Aziraphale thought it was the first real one he’d seen. He was struck by the man’s sharp cheekbones, his dark red hair.

He wrenched himself back to the conversation at hand. “I certainly like to think so.” He pulled at his waistcoat. “So, it’s the end of your first day with Tadfield Libraries, Mr. Crowley. I hope it’s been an enjoyable one.”

“Just Crowley. And yes. I rather think it has.”

Aziraphale caught himself watching as Crowley sauntered out the door, slim hips swaying in tight black jeans. He looked away guiltily.

But now he considered it, perhaps he wasn’t so disappointed with Newt’s computer problems after all.


End file.
